


Scratches

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Gen, Transformation, Walks In The Woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galadriel has bad dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the horror meme on Tumblr.

Galadriel had a week of dark and disturbing dreams, ones that woke her up long before dawn and left her stomach churning. Her waking days were not much better. She tore at her weavings and spoke sharply to Celeborn. He did not shrink back, as others might have done, but at the moment she did not seem to know him at all.  


She begged Thingol for leave to go to her brother’s kingdom, for she knew there was the source of her foreboding. But Thingol, occupied as he was by the fate of his own daughter, would not hear of it. He raised his voice to her, and Galadriel, not to be cowed, raised hers back in turn.

Then he threatened her with banishment. She laughed in his face, her voice high and fey.

She sounded like her half-uncle Fëanor then – what a strange thing it was, for her to sound like him! No one around her knew that, of course. Only she did.  


One night, she left Celeborn sleeping next to her (they had not bound to each other – yet – the Sindar had a more tolerant view on such things than had the Noldor), and crept out of Menegroth. Only the faint singing of nightgales followed her away.

Soon, the familiar woods that surrounded Menegroth melted into a strange and trackless forest, one that seemed to extend farther than her eyes could see. She walked on, swift and tireless, though something in her throat was burning. Soon, long, bloody scratches began to appear on her side, quite unlike the ones that the branches made.  


She had gone on so long.

She began to doubt.

But – finally, finally! The forest failed, and gave way to bank of mist. As she approached, however, a way began to clear for her, straight through. Well, she thought, with a twisted smile. I have worn out my welcome in Doriath at last! 

She followed the path out, and found who she had been looking for.

He was a great white wolf, his maw dyed red with blood. When he spotted her, he tensed, ready to spring. But then he caught her scent. She reached out to him and he came to her and began to lick her face with his broad, rough tongue. For the first time, Galadriel’s feet went out from under her and he curled around her, the best that he could. 

She wept.

“O my brother,” she whispered into the wolf’s white fur. “What has happened to you?”

He whined deep in his throat and nudged her with his great, shaggy head. In her mind’s eye, she saw snatches of memory. Of a place, dark and perilous. Of blood rising like mist, the screams of the dying, and old friends breathing their last. And then – the wolf came for him, her brother, Finrod, her beloved.

His familiar body was torn apart, but faster than the call from Mandos, his fëa had lept into the first thing it could find. Then, he had sought her.

After a long while, deep in thought, Galadriel stirred and patted his fur. “Nevermind. I will find a cure for you.”

And she stood – somewhat unsteadily – and mounted him. It was more difficult than it looked. But still, if Lúthien could do it, than so could she. They began to run, away from fate and death and into something yet unknown.


End file.
